


The Funding

by GlowwormiK



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anxious Honerva, Attentive Zarkon, F/M, Frienship is born, Gen, Honerva and Zarkon meet, Honerva's research, POV Honerva, Pre-Rift Daibazaal, no romance yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-04 00:11:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13352412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowwormiK/pseuds/GlowwormiK
Summary: When Honerva comes to Daibazaal, she is anxious, insecure and suffers from lack of money for her research interests. Will Zarkon be able to change something? Pre-rift, a story how Honerva and Zarkon started working together.A thousand thanks to@hoata, my wonderful, incredible, perfect beta-reader who took their time to read this while it was still a draft, made their invaluable remarks and corrected my grammar. Without them, this fic might have never been finished.I am very glad about any comment, no matter how small or angry. :-) Come talk to me ontumblr, too!





	1. Chapter 1

“Be friendly”, her grandmother would always tell her. “Smile, Honerva, no one likes gloomy girls."

So, when King Alfor introduces her to the emperor - an imposing purple-skinned man, three times her size and covered in armour like a battle robot - alchemist Honerva smiles as much as she can. She smiles when King Alfor mentions her, and she keeps the corners of her lips up when she explains her research. This is her chance. If this rift is what his Majesty thinks it is, then this is her gateway to knowledge she could never have dreamt of. All she has to do is convince the galran lord to let her work here for as long as possible. This time, she won't allow her gloomy attitude and awkwardness around people to spoil this for her.

She doesn’t seem to succeed though, as the man spits out a couple of set phrases and disappears after less than a dobosh.

“He didn’t stay long,” Alfor says, his voice surprised.

Oh no, Honerva thinks, this must be because of me. I've done something wrong again and offended him. To her relief however, the sanctions she feared would be put in place to restrict her research don't follow. The next day, King Alfor leaves, eager to get to his own laboratory, and Honerva finds herself free to work without anyone interrupting her. It feels wonderful being left in charge, free to prove her thoughts and far from the excruciating bureaucracy of the university. Honerva receives a dozen helpers from the galra (the emperor brings them personally, but hardly stays more than a couple of ticks) in addition to the students who came with her. Together, they quickly establish a barrier circle around the rift, making sure to leave holes where the equipment is supposed to go. She urges everyone to work as fast as possible – she simply cannot wait any longer. The galra helpers turn out to be very diligent and hardworking, almost as reliable in executing her orders as her beloved machinery. How different are they from the lazy, self-interested laboratory technicians she was used to back on Altea!

The first readings from the measuring devices are overwhelming: the rift has no bottom detected with normal measures, and the substance that fills it is neither a fifth state of matter nor a new chemical element, but something entirely unknown to her. Honerva works for several days straight, establishing shifts for all her helpers. Lord Zarkon appears several times and orders her to send weekly reports to him, but they always interact only very briefly and formally. He seems very demanding yet distant at the same time, and his way of treating everyone around him like lesser beings annoys her. Besides, she doesn't really know how she is expected to behave - this time, there are no peers to copy attitude from. At least he doesn't try to shake hands or touch me in other ways, she thinks briefly and forgets about his existence the instant he leaves the room.

Honerva makes everyone wear protective suits around the rift as long as its impact on health is unknown. Unlike the Galra, who follow her orders without hesitation, her students regularly anger her. They try to sneak in wearing regular clothes despite all warnings. She understands why; the rift doesn't seem harmful and the suits are heavy, they get in the way of the research activity, but it also makes her mad: she is responsible for their lives and health, after all. She never thought that leading a research team would feel like controlling a group of angry toddlers. Reasonable young people react like explosive teenagers when she reprimands them for their recklessness, but she strives to remain as calm and unbiased as a good team leader is supposed to. The bottled up anger she suppresses breaks through during the second phoeb of research.

The work day is over, but Honerva decides to check on her devices one more time before going to bed. However, she immediately notices a lonely figure right on the edge of the rift as she approaches. All the lights are off and the structure they hastily erected around the rift is dark, but the rift itself glows golden in its miraculous beauty, and the intruder is a small black shadow on the ever shifting, shining background. All the frustration that Honerva had to suppress every day bursts in her chest. Every scrap of patience she possesses is gone. With several leaps, Honerva reaches the rift, grabs the intruder by the waist from the back and pushes them away from the edge, sending them toppling.

“What the hell are you doing here without protective equipment? Who authorized you to enter, you moron?”

She yells so loud that her own voice rings in her ears and red shadows float in front of her eyes. She pants from exertion, but when the intruder raises his head, all air leaves her lungs. Warrior Emperor Zarkon is lying on his back with a shocked expression on his face, resembling a giant angry beetle. He is not wearing his cape, so Honerva didn't recognize him from the back.

“A- ehm…” Honerva utters.

He is the last person Honerva expected to see, and she finds herself lost for words. Zarkon seems similarly taken aback and doesn't say anything. He gets up in complete silence, bar the rattle of his metal armour on the floor, and looks down at her. Honerva closes her mouth with a snap. This is the worst thing she could have done to win his positive attitude and secure herself a permanent research place. Attacking the emperor, insulting him verbally... Of course he doesn’t need any authorization to enter here, he's the ruler of the planet! What will he do? Honerva has heard rumours of the emperor’s short temper and terrible wrath. Surely he will send her away.

“There are rules about wearing protective clothing and not approaching the edge of the rift for security reasons,” Honerva says, weakly.

“You need to manage your work better if you want to ensure that your rules are followed,” the Galra says coldly. “If there are security matters, I will see to it that entry restrictions are put in place. However, this is not why I am here.” He seems to have collected himself completely, and the usual commanding tones are back in his voice. “I am here to inquire if your work goes as planned.”

“Yes, why?” she asks, unsure what to expect.

“I didn’t receive your report yesterday.”

Honerva suppresses the urge to facepalm. Yesterday, one of the bridges gave in and she had been so busy dealing with that situation she must have forgotten to send the report. Now her outburst looks even more unjustified. As usual, when interrogated by a superior and unsure about how much she is entitled to, Honerva struggles to find a quick answer and falls back to a "diligent student" tone of voice.

“I will send it. We had a little accident - it's already fixed, but-”

“What kind of accident?” he interrupts her.

“The bridge collapsed and we had to seal off the area and work around it, so we worked later to keep on schedule and I forgot to send the report.”

“Then use higher quality materials to avoid such accidents, and make sure your workers do a proper job. I expect you to appear in my study in half a varga to discuss progress on your work.”

He turns and leaves. Honerva looks him behind: what an ignorant asshole. Where am I supposed to obtain good quality materials, considering the supply shortages? It's easy to talk when you have an entire planet’s resources at your fingertips.

Honerva changes out of her protective suit and heads towards Emperor Zarkon’s quarters immediately afterwards. She's still angry about his last words, but she feels she's already exceeded her limit of rudeness today, so better not make him wait. Zarkon’s adjutant, an old, thin galra, accompanies her into his study. It is a big room, with high ceilings and resonant metal floors but, unlike other rooms in the castle, it's filled with bookcases. No couch, no armchairs - the only other furniture is an enormous table - covered with papers and with two info terminals on each side. The emperor is sitting and doesn’t raise his head when she enters. The adjutant disappears without a word, and Honerva remains standing, shuffling her feet uncomfortably. Is she supposed to start apologizing right away or wait until he speaks to her?

“I didn’t know you were that strong,” he says, still not looking a her.

Honerva feels her face heat up.

“We Alteans are stronger than we look,” she explains. “Our muscles process energy more efficiently than those of most species, and we can execute more work with less muscle mass.”

He looks up, irritation visible on his face. Honerva interrupts herself: she doesn’t want to sound condescending on top of everything else. Better apologize once more.

“I am sorry for what happened earlier. I was rude and I ask your forgiveness.”

“Do you attack every visitor like that?” he asks, examining her with his narrow yellow eyes. Honerva feels even more offended now.

“I constantly have to keep an eye on my students who seem to disregard all security considerations for the sake of more efficient research. I saw somebody at the edge, so I assumed it was one of them again. I was simply out of patience.”

“You fail to implement a sufficient level of discipline among your people,” he says slowly. “This is your duty as a leader. Maybe you need help with that?”

His offer of “help” doesn’t sound friendly, it's a dire reminder. Honerva knows what he means – if you fail at this, I will dispose of you. When frightened, Honerva grows aggressive. She feels her jaw move forward and stares him directly in the eyes.

“If you haven’t noticed, we are researchers, not soldiers. We don’t march on command. Freedom of spirit is an essential quality for us, even if it means less discipline. I would appreciate it if you let me organize my work the way I see fit.”

Emperor Zarkon exhales and frowns.

“Researchers or not, your students obviously overload you, making you explode without warning. I will not allow a mentally unstable person to supervise such an important project.”

He just called me crazy, Honerva realizes in outrage.

"I am here on behalf of alchemist community of planet Altea. King Alfor considered me fit enough to lead the research on the rift, and I suggest..."

"If you can't organize your people due to lack of experience, I will do it for you," Zarkon interrupts her. "First thing in the morning I will visit your facility and see what can be done."

“Did you even listen to anything I said?” Honerva snaps. “I can manage them fine on my own, I don't need your interference, you can leave it for your own underlings!”

Too much, she understands, but it is already too late. The Emperor straightens in his chair.

“This is not an offer, alchemist Honerva. This is an _order_.”

Zarkon’s last word falls like a stone, and Honerva realizes that she doesn't have any power to contradict. In order to avoid saying more reckless words, she turns around without any further notice and leaves.

The adjutant meets her on the other side of the door, obviously having listened in on their conversation.

“If I you would accept a little advise, I recommend never skipping the salutation and addressing our Lord with more respect. You should call him “My Lord” at all times,” he says in a snide voice.

This time, Honerva has no reason to hold her tongue.

“No, I won't accept your advice. Go lick your emperor's ass on your own; I'm not going to call him my lord, because he is not my lord. If you failed to notice, I am an Altean and my King is Alfor. So close your stinking mouth and tell your lord to do the same!”

Something is wrong; the galra looks behind her. With a sickening feeling, Honerva looks around and yes, Zarkon is standing behind her, his hand frozen in the middle of closing the door. Silently, he finishes the movement, and the door's soft swoosh sounds like snake's hissing in Honerva’s ears.

Next quintant, Honerva hides in her laboratory, hardly even going to the rift. She feels like a mouse, chased into a hole and shivering at the smell of a cat waiting to sink his teeth in her flesh. She doesn’t know what to expect – an exile? An imprisonment? It is not like she values Daibazaal so much - the only thing Honerva cares about is her research - but she can’t bear being separated from the source of quintessence. Not after everything she went through to get here.

Still, days pass and nothing happens. Her students tell her that Zarkon did in fact appear in the research facilities and scared the living daylight out of them. He also sent some military personnel who are now wandering around and making sure that no one enters or exits unsupervised.

Slowly, Honerva dares to go out of her laboratory more and more. When the next weekly report is due, she sends it off (although not without hesitation). It comes back within the usual time with the usual “approved” seal. It looks like nothing has changed. Zarkon’s intrusion has borne fruit, too: her students are now as obedient as she never saw them. Begrudgingly, Honerva admits that Emperor Zarkon was right – not having to look after them like after a bunch of kindergarten kids does really make her life much easier. The research slowly takes a regulated schedule and Honerva even notices she has some free time in the evenings. She mostly sorts and reorganizes the data, but sometimes she wants to distract herself. Then, she orders a bucket of ice cream from the kitchen and watches Galran TV.

Generally, she finds it much like Altean one: talk shows, cooking shows, series. She sees purple faces instead of brown ones and their adventure plots are more war-heavy, but sometimes she feels like she never left home. The news is very different, though, as there is another figure defining them: Emperor Zarkon. He is often on the TV, but always in an official setting: a new planet will be colonized and he is inspecting the preparations, or there is a military parade and he is watching. He rarely does interviews, mostly speeches, and of course he doesn’t appear in talk shows like King Alfor. Honerva eats ice cream and listens attentively. He speaks slowly, without much expression, each word separate from the others; always serious, always demanding. She’s not used to aggressive galran rhetoric, but after a while she starts liking it. There’s this directness about Zarkon that attracts her in particular. She’s never been good at detecting people’s moods, and that lack of diplomacy has cost her several major opportunities in her life. With galra and especially Zarkon, she doesn’t need to be a diplomat. When they are angry, she sees it, and is strangely refreshing. Honerva always enjoyed watching people from distance and making conclusions about their personalities, but now it suddenly becomes a whole new hobby. She makes it to a habit of hers to switch on evening news and note where Zarkon was today and what he did. His voice sounds at the back of her head when she dives into her evening studies, and it gives her a strangely comforting feeling.

It’s all a show what she sees about him of course. She knows the true price for such performances. Alfor, the goofiest of all people she knows, always tries to look wise and balanced in the TV. She would have never believed what he truly is, if she only saw him on screen. So if merry blockhead Alfor presents himself as a mature ruler, then what is pompous, aggressive Zarkon on the inside? Maybe he’s a chicken, a softie. Honerva cannot help but laugh as she imagines the great and horrifying warrior emperor running around, clucking and trying to put his head in his armpit. In all seriousness, though - this doesn’t seem plausible. Zarkon seems genuinely confident in himself and naturally decisive, so every evening Honerva turns the TV on and goes on trying to solve the riddle of his true nature.


	2. Chapter 2

After several movements, Honerva's work is interrupted brutally by an unforeseen event: her centrifuge - the central piece of equipment that she brought from Altea and uses to separate quintessence from atmospheric gases - breaks down. When Honerva first sees black lubricant oil running out a crack in the casing, she’s still in denial. She spends the entirety of the day trying to repair the invaluable machine, but alas: by the evening, it becomes clear to her that there is nothing to be done. The centrifuge was very old anyway, having served more than double of its working lifespan, and now its tank looks more like a sieve, covered in small holes. Honerva received the centrifuge after a terrible fight with the laboratory of marine biology and now she feels like a relative of hers has died. It is not just emotions, however: without the machinery, her work is nearly impossible. She needs a new one, and she needs it urgently, but she also knows that the university will never give her an asset of such value.  
  
She calls King Alfor. His communicator does not answer and redirects her to his secretary after a few beeps.  
  
“I am very sorry, but His Majesty is currently busy” the girl coos into Honerva’s ear. “I just cannot disturb him right now.”  
  
“It is really important and urgent,” she tries to explain, but is faced with the same soft careless voice and complete uselessness. Honerva presses her fists so hard that her nails bite into her skin. Anger and impatience start rising in her chest, but she does her best to suppress them. Altea is a society of researchers and diplomats, she will not be left alone without any possibility to work. She keeps calling and hanging up each time the communication is redirected to the secretary. Finally, King Alfor gives up and answers her. He looks tired and angry, so Honerva immediately regrets her persistence, having realized that he will never grant her wish right now.  
  
“What do you want?” he snaps.  
  
“Your Majesty, I desperately need the centrifuge to experiment with the rift essence. The one I had was really old and it’s broken down.”  
  
Honerva made her voice as sweet and respectful as possible, but it doesn't do the trick. Alfor frowns.  
  
“Honerva, I cannot provide you such expensive machinery from my own funds. You should have been more careful! Moreover, don’t you belong to the university, why don't you ask them? Or maybe Zarkon, I don’t know. Don’t distract me with your calls; do you even have any idea how annoying this is?”  
  
“But the university has really scarce funds, and the delivery will happen in phoebs in the best case! And the dean-”  
  
He hangs up on her before she can finish her sentence. I blew my best chance, Honerva thinks.  
  
The thought of having to call the dean makes her shiver. Maybe I can work around it, she thinks, maybe someone else might help.

"I don't see the reason of your call," Mara's eyes are purposefully focused somewhere behind Honerva's shoulder. She goes silent and keeps staring - it is not her job to make the conversation pleasant and she doesn't intend to strain herself if her interests aren't at stake.

"Mara, you know best how I need the centrifuge! Isn't there a way for me to move up in the waiting list? You received a particle sieve last quintant, how did you do it? Who did you contact exactly?"

"I talked to Mr. Dean."

Silence again.

"But the dean..."

" _Mr. Dean_ , Honerva. He is an amazing professional, a renowned leader, I don't see your problem with him."

Honerva calls two secretaries ("Miss Honerva, my consultation hours are over, please take time to consult the infopage before calling" and "Dear caller, our desk is currently unmanned due to a strike..."), the quartermaster ("I don't decide anything! No, Miss Mara had a form signed by the Dean - what kind of fabrications...") and countless colleagues (mostly empty glances and purposeful silence to make her hang down uncomfortably as soon as possible and one "I really find your questions stupid"). After some time it becomes clear that she has no other choice, so she dials the cursed number.

The dean hasn't changed one bit since she saw him last time.  
  
“Honerva, beauty, I am always happy to hear from you, even if your silly girly head forgets about every single deadline. How are you doing on Daibazaal? How many times those galra brutes have grabbed those fine thighs of yours?”  
  
He starts laughing and bends towards the camera, and all Honerva sees is his nose, long and yellow, like that of a dead man’s. Nausea rises up her throat, but she swallows it down. No time to be picky, just ignore it.  
  
“You are too kind to me, sir. I am doing fine, thank you. However, my centrifuge has broken down, so I was thinking you could assist me with acquiring a replacement. I am still a university staff member and have the right for appropriate working equipment, correct?”  
  
Honerva pauses and does her best to make a pleasant face. Steel hand in a soft glove, don’t they say? But the dean is a tough nut. He also smiles, as if no threat has been made.  
  
“You are an external researcher now, therefore you’ve lost any right to financial claims. You’re still required to report your work and your discoveries are to be published under the university's banner, honey. Paragraph 3.11.4, 2nd Appendix of the Codex of the University.”  
  
Honerva gasps like a fish taken out of water. No one informed her about such consequences when she traveled here; the dean himself assured her that her position and financing wouldn't change. They tricked her, she realizes. Now they can demand everything she does without having to provide her with anything. She feels slightly lightheaded as she struggles to think of a way out of this situation.  
  
“But, sweetie, maybe if you ask me real nicely?” the dean winks. Honerva feels that her cheeks start to burn.  
  
“Mr. Dean, please?” She bites the inside of her cheek to avoid screaming. The centrifuge. Anything for a centrifuge.  
  
“Mmh, and why would I give the centrifuge to you?” the old man asks.  
  
The world seems discolored in front of Honerva's eyes, she’s now beyond the point of feeling ashamed.  
  
“Because you are the kindest, most beautiful man on Altea.”  
  
“And what else am I?”  
  
No, I can’t do this, Honerva thinks, this is surreal. There must be borders, someone has to make him stop. The dean is staring at her with cold blue eyes, surrounded by white eyelashes, waiting. Like a crocodile, Honerva suddenly thinks, an ancient killing machine with just the most primitive of reflexes.  
  
“You… you are… very sexy…” Honerva manages.  
  
The dean utters a dry laugh.  
  
“No, honey, that doesn’t convince me one bit. Prettier women than you have tried, and they were much more eager. Do you think I don’t see how your eyes glow? Moreover, the large centrifuge is under maintenance at the moment anyway and I can’t send off any of the portable ones the university has.”  
  
Feeling breathless, Honerva says goodbye and hangs up. Then she slams her fists on the table and roars. He knew! He knew from the beginning that he would not give her the centrifuge. He just wanted to humiliate her!  
  
Honerva sinks to the floor, biting her fingers with rage and shame. "Please", her own voice rings in her ears. He made me talk like a dirty slut. Disgust washes over her, freezing her insides. She imagines the dean cackling right now and wants to plunge her nails deep into his face. Honerva puts her head in her hands and swings to and fro on the floor, whining with pain and anger. There is no way out of this humiliation, no salvation from self-hatred.  
  
Then a new thought comes to her mind; Alfor told her to contact Zarkon. Honerva is so desperate that it seems like nothing that can go worse. She stands up, lifeless like a robot, walks to her info terminal and opens a requisition form. Centrifugal engine, model 2FFXY-M311, 1 piece. How despicable am I, she thinks, asking from a man who I insulted mere quintants ago.  
  
She’s about to send the application off, and sighs. This is a dead end anyway; if her own university doesn't give her a dime, why would a ruler of a stranger planet fund her research? If he denies her this, why not deny her everything? Honerva takes out her supply list and starts entering everything in the form. Oils, reagents, glass vessels, equipment. Everything she’s lacked for years is entered into the list, every little restriction that suffocates her creativity and makes her scratch her neck in anxiety, every worry that doesn't let her sleep at night. When Honerva is done, the list is over four pages long. She looks it through once more and laughs sadly. Researcher? More like a beggar.  
  
She sends the application off. There is nothing else to do: Emperor Zarkon probably won't read it before next week, and until then, Honerva is doomed to suffocate in her thoughts, without being able to prove anything. Maybe she can still count something on the models? Honerva pulls the computer towards her and tries to concentrate, but fails. Her talk with the dean is still too fresh in her mind. His long nose appears before her eyes and she rubs her throat to prevent herself from suffocating with disgust.  
  
You couldn't do anything, she says to herself. You tried your best. He probably treats every young woman this way. But she was the one to beg. Does it really matter if a woman does this for money or for a centrifuge? Honerva imagines the dean in a pub, telling his colleagues about this evening's call. The feeling of dirtiness becomes unbearable; she jumps up and starts pacing around the room. No, don't think about it. You need something to occupy yourself while you can’t work.  
  
Swimming! She could go swimming in the swimming pool King Alfor mentioned to her on the first day! The thought of clean cool pool water on her body is so sweet that she almost knocks a chair over as she rushes straight out of her personal chambers, stopping only to grab a towel and some swimwear.  
  
The water is much colder than she’s used to, and there are already several military men swimming, but she doesn’t care.  
  
Arm stroke, leg stroke. Inhale, exhale.  
  
The simple routine helps silence the thoughts in her head and the physical exertion helps ease the burning pain in her chest. For doboshes, Honerva forgets everything around her and lets herself go with the water flows around her body.  
  
Inhale, ex-  
  
She’s torn out of her peaceful world by a familiar high voice. Honerva dives out and sees Zarkon’s adjutant standing on the edge of the pool. He is eyeing her with a disgusted expression.  
  
“Please get out of the water. Emperor’s letter. I am required to hand it in to you personally.”  
  
His facial expression says clearly that he would rather dump the envelope somewhere, but he sticks to the procedure. Honerva gets out of the water and walks toward him, careful not to slip and fall down. The air is cold and she starts shivering uncontrollably almost immediately. Honerva presses her teeth together. Her hands are shaking when she takes the envelope from the adjutant.  
  
At least he rejects quickly, a sadist like the dean would have taken weeks to answer. Honerva tears the envelope open: the paper is folded, and she has to shake it to straighten it. These are printouts of her files, and she has to blink before she believes what she’s seeing. The pages are stamped with a large red “approved”. Honerva stares at the paper for several ticks: maybe it just means that he read it? A drop of water falls from Honerva’s nose and lands on the approval mark, making it blur.  
  
Honerva turns the page. Handwritten notes have been added in a new column next to her table, with the header of: delivery date. “Tomorrow”, is written next to centrifuge. Honerva slides her finger down the column: “tomorrow”, “immediately”, “2 to 3 quintanta”, “next movement”. The most distant entry that she finds is “2 movements”, on a hoisting crane. Is this a joke? Honerva raises her eyes and meets adjutant’s sour gaze. It tells her better than anything else that this is indeed reality.  
  
“Thank you,” she manages to squeeze out, as she turns and heads towards the changing room.  
  
There, she wraps herself in a towel and sits down on a bench. Luckily, no one is there to disturb her. She reads the files through once more, more carefully now. It is really true – he approved every single of her requests, even those she considered optional and only really included out of spite. All the delivery dates seem too good to be true, too: quintants, in comparison with the phoebs it takes to receive equipment on Altea. A warm wave of thankfulness overflows Honerva. The emperor looked through her request so fast, almost as if her paper was one of his top priorities... She feels a little guilty for attacking Zarkon, for treating him like an enemy. With a surge of unusual bravery, Honerva decides to thank him personally and maybe apologize, if he would even listen.  
  
Zarkon is in his small office where he talked to her last time, just as she assumed. The adjutant is still wandering somewhere, so she enters undisturbed. The emperor was obviously not expecting an intrusion: helmetless, he is holding a bowl of some steaming food in his hand, and he already opened his mouth to take a bite from a monstrous multi-layered sandwich. He puts the food down as he sees her and pushes it aside.  
  
“The hoisting crane you require can't be delivered earlier than two movements,” he says, a little too quickly. Without the metal bucket on his head, he looks a lot younger and more vulnerable.  
  
Honerva didn’t expect this whole scene, she stops, not knowing what to do.  
  
“No, it’s not… It is totally fine… I'm sorry for the intrusion, I came to apologize and thank you for your invaluable assistance with the equipment".  
  
The conversation doesn't go as she planned, and Honerva starts panicking.  
  
"I will call you my lord if you want to," she blurts out.  
  
“Why the sudden change of mind?” Zarkon squints suspiciously.  
  
“You alone had mercy for me. You answered my plea when no one else would.”  
  
“What do you mean? And sit down, you look like you are about to faint.”  
  
His tone is condescending and cold once again, but it stopped mattering the second Honerva saw the approved list. She does sit down, but words seem to be stuck in her throat. Is it right to tell him everything or should she find some elegant way to convey the personalities of the people who denied her? Honerva starts shivering again, more than before. Zarkon inspects her silently from behind his table, then stands up. If he touches me now, I will either vomit or cry, Honerva thinks, but doesn't dare to say anything. Zarkon doesn't attempt to approach her, though. Instead, he opens one of the bookshelves and pulls out a huge ancient looking device, full of spirals under a huge metal hood. Before Honerva can ask herself what it could be for, Zarkon turns it to her and switches it on. The spirals start glowing with a light buzz, and a wave of heat spreads towards her, warming her cold fingers and the tip of her nose. This is so unexpectedly pleasant that she stretches her arm towards the heater and smiles. Zarkon gets back to his table and stares at Honerva silently again.  
  
Words start pouring out of Honerva uncontrollably. It might seem stupid, confiding in someone so different from her and someone so much more powerful, but the warmth from the heater had melted her insecurities. She tells him everything. About the application procedure and how it can take phoebes and phoebes to receive supplies and then you need to upgrade them yourself or live with the poor quality provided. About King Alfor's uncharacteristic dismissal. About the mockery that her competitors-colleagues subjected her to. She even mentions the dean's dirty hints, even though it still feels too shameful. Zarkon’s face darkens so strongly that Honerva nearly regrets not having skipped on details.  
  
“How disgusting!" he spits out. "This dean is a disgrace to his kind. I will see to it that you never have to address him again."  
  
Does this mean I can stay here forever? Honerva doesn't dare ask, so she just smiles weakly.  
  
"I didn't know Altea was so ungenerous in providing for it's best children," Zarkon asks when she is done. "So, you contacted me last, after you were out of options?” He sounds offended.  
  
“I didn’t know if I was allowed to. I am a foreigner on your planet, why would you give me something if my own people don't. And I offended you.”  
  
“I offered you all possible assistance, didn’t I?”  
  
“I thought it was but a figure of speech.”  
  
“I don’t do figures of speech. If I said “any support required”, I meant any support required. I am no scientist, but even I understand that you do a remarkable job on the rift. On Daibazaal, the better you work, the more you are entitled for. You will receive any equipment and funding necessary at highest priority as long as you continue working like you do.”  
  
A wave of gratitude grows so strong that Honerva has to blink unwanted tears from her eyes. Suddenly, Zarkon seems like one off the closest, most trusted people to her. If she could, she would hug him. All she can think of now are her research materials; riches simply handed out to her without the need to humiliate herself.  
  
“Don’t cry,” he says. “I didn't mean to offend you. I meant that you can trust a word of a galra...”  
  
“I am not offended,” Honerva’s voice cracks. “I am very thankful for your kindness, I can’t express it with words.”  
  
Zarkon's hand twitches for a moment, but falls back on the table.  
  
"Would you like something to eat? You look exhausted."  
  
Honerva nods. Now that all the fear and anger have left, she feels limp and weak. She wraps her coat more closely around herself, as she absently listens to Zarkon ordering food outside, then takes a plate with another sandwich and a bowl of tea from him. Still strangely numb, she eats the sandwich and drinks, while he does the same. When she lifts her head, he is already finished and looking into the terminal in front of him again. They sit silently for some time, until Honerva dares ask one more question.  
  
“Where did you take the money from?”  
  
“The military budget.”   
  
Wow, Honerva thinks. The warrior emperor just spent military money on my needs.  
  
“Why would you deprive your military for my research?”  
  
Zarkon lifts his head again. “The rift is currently the biggest danger to Daibazaal’s security, both in terms of unpredictability, potential for attack and its sensitive location near the capital. Your research will hopefully provide information about dangers that might lurk on the other side and let us plan our defenses accordingly. It is only logical that your devices should be financed from military budget."  
  
Honerva had never viewed the rift as anything but a research opportunity, and only in this moment she understands the weight Zarkon has been carrying all this time. Constantly expecting something unimaginable to attack his planet at any time of day or night must be excruciating. Honerva feels deep compassion for the emperor, and shame for her earlier outbursts stings her heart once more.  
  
“I will make sure to progress as fast as I can and inform you about every detail. If you wish, I can also concentrate more on researching ways to contain it.”  
  
Zarkon's face lightens up a bit, “this would be greatly appreciated.”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me about this threat you expect earlier?”  
  
Zarkon lowers his eyes and starts moving the empty bowl around the table. “What would I have achieved by that, other than overloading you with unrelated problems? I found it unlikely that you would change the pace of your research to accommodate my anxieties, so it was better to let you work in peace. I placed elite troops as guards around the place with an order to evacuate all of you immediately, should something happen.”  
  
Honerva feels guilty, but also strangely flattered but this consideration from a man who seemed to be only able to give orders and demand. A new thought strikes her: maybe there is a way to solve all her problems, financial and scientific, once and for all? She just needs to choose her words very carefully...  
  
"No, actually, I would have made changes in my research schedule to make sure that your concerns don't remain unanswered. But now the situation is different anyway."  
  
"How so?" Zarkon asks, looking up again.  
  
Now or never, Honerva thinks. "Until now, I considered myself an altean alchemist not only because I was born on Altea, but because I researched for Altea, on it's behalf. However, if the funding you have promised me was permanent, maybe I wouldn't need to beg for scraps at my university anymore. Maybe I could research for somebody else, provided that they are generous with supplies."  
  
"You will receive any funding necessary as long as you require it," Zarkon says, his eyes fixed on Honerva's face. "Daibazaal needs your research. But you will have to concentrate more on finding out what is on the other side of the rift and if it can enter here, and not skip practical implications of your findings for more theory."  
  
"There is more to it, your Majesty," Honerva goes on. "In my reports, I mentioned that I found various side effects of quintessence, not relevant to its particle structure, but interesting nevertheless."  
  
Zarkon nods. "Yes, you wrote that it makes materials more durable and that, once refined, it can burn. I wondered why you just left it there."  
  
He really does take the time to read my reports, Honerva thinks. This might just work.  
  
"Why I left this discovery and went on? It's not that it didn't interest me, it's that I didn't have any funding for it. This is material science, it requires lots of costly consumables, and I am a physicist, no one will give me money for side projects. You could, though. Your battle ships would certainly benefit from more durable armour, wouldn't they? And do you know what burning means? It means fuel! Fuel of unimaginable power! On Altea, they told me that I cannot judge about it, because this is not my field of study, but you are not that narrow-minded, are you? You would entrust me with researching it? And there is so much more: quintessence alters the growth rate of plants, it affects magnetic fields, it enhances solubility of certain matters in water, these are all invaluable paths to more knowledge!"  
  
Honerva realizes that she is shouting and has to inhale. Zarkon watches her with narrowed eyes.  
  
"Your reports didn't mention anything about fuel," he says slowly. "Did you omit this detail on purpose?"  
  
"No," Honerva frowns. "I did write that, I just didn't say the word "fuel"."  
  
"Then I struggle to even understand your reports, let alone what you're doing."  
  
Honerva laughs, "This is just because you lack basic alchemical knowledge, I can explain a little to you if you want. But this is my fault, too. To be honest, I wasn't sure if you even read my reports, so I didn't bother writing everything out."  
  
"The first thing you should do is write everything out. List every direction that you abandoned and its possible implications, and mark those you find the most promising." Zarkon tells her, but now his commanding tone doesn't bother Honerva.  
  
"I will also write a list of the equipment I need to pursue those directions. And a plan on when I will do everything. Oh, I will definitely need more helpers and a constant supply of chemicals. And galran engineers to consult me on your machinery, if we want to experiment with fortifying your defenses. And an artillery range to test the fuel in case it explodes. "  
  
Caught in the flow of her thought, she unknowingly starts bending her fingers when listing her requests.  
  
"Also several spaceships to run tests on before engaging with quintessence, and we will need to build a factory in proximity of the rift if we want to purify any significant amount of it. I need a team to help me build drones to enter the rift and explore it, electronics to operate them, test subjects to go on exploration missions later, a long-range wave amplifier to send signals in, a particle sieve collider, at least two telludavs..."  
  
Honerva runs out of stretched fingers and looks up. Zarkon is laughing silently under his breath.  
  
"And then they say “greedy like a space pirate!" Poor pirates are lavish spenders in comparison to altean alchemists, as it turns out!"  
  
Honerva rolls her eyes. "You want knowledge?" she asks with a simulated irritation. "You'll have to pay for it. No one will bring you discoveries on a silver platter!"  
  
"So you officially want me to become the patron of your research? Have the last word in it?" Zarkon raises his eyebrows, laughter sparkling in his eyes.  
  
"You'll never have the last word," Honerva counters. "I will go wherever I find interesting, you can tag along, at most. But you may have all the treasures I find along the way."  
  
They both laugh; sharing these jokes seems so natural, almost like they have been doing this for decades. For some reason, Honerva is absolutely sure that Zarkon won't be offended by her sarcasm, and everything is going to be fine. Forever. Then she remembers one more thing.  
  
"I don't want to ever have to deal with the dean and the likes of him again, or manage conflicts with suppliers, or think about financial restrictions. I am a researcher, I want to research and not be bothered by those trivial problems anymore. You will also be the one to explain King Alford why I switched sides from Altea."  
  
"Forget the dean and Alfor," Zarkon smiles, and the way his lips curl up sends pleasant goosebumps down Honerva's spine. "Forget everyone. They are expendable, they don't matter. The only thing that matters is your success and your research. You need to unfold your true potential and I need all of your results."  
  
When she exits the emperor's study and comes back into her laboratory, the first thing Honerva sees is the broken centrifuge. To think that barely a varga ago, she was shaking with anger and frustration, feeling as helpless and broken as an abandoned animal... It seemed like the whole world turned their faces away from her, but it really takes just one person to wash that feeling away. Zarkon's assistance relieves decaphoeb-long mental whirlpool of anxiety, gives her entire life a new turn for safety and effectiveness. To make sure that she is not sleeping and Zarkon’s gift is not a dream, she pulls the crumpled printout out of her pocket. The red approval mark is still there, as well as all the notes, promising imminent riches. Honerva traces her finger along the printout: now she has time to notice that Zarkon writes in square separate letters, and with so much pressure that the ink is visible on the other side of the paper. Persistent to a degree of stubbornness, systematic thinker, good health, Honerva’s memory tells her. Graphology has only very limited psychological proof, she reminds herself, but ideas and implications of this observation have already started twirling in her head and they are unlikely to stop in the nearest future. Honerva smiles to herself. The new centrifuge will arrive tomorrow, and she won't be able to sleep until she sees it. Best time to plan out what she will do with all the funds.


End file.
